


It's Been One Week

by chibi_nightowl



Series: Tuesday Nights [2]
Category: Batman (Comics), Red Robin (Comics), Teen Titans (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Capes, Humor, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Slice of Life, Tim Needs a Good Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-17
Updated: 2020-10-17
Packaged: 2021-03-09 06:14:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27060079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chibi_nightowl/pseuds/chibi_nightowl
Summary: As the door to the dingy bar closes behind him, Tim glances over his shoulder and smiles softly. Who’d have thought a few wrong turns during his absentminded drive around the city would have ended with himhereof all places?
Relationships: Tim Drake/Jason Todd
Series: Tuesday Nights [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/634208
Comments: 36
Kudos: 266





	It's Been One Week

**Author's Note:**

  * For [txbookeater](https://archiveofourown.org/users/txbookeater/gifts).



> Happy birthday, my dear! Thank you so much for all your help with my stories. I'd write a million chapters more if you just say the word. 
> 
> Beta read by bumpkin.

As the door to the dingy bar closes behind him, Tim glances over his shoulder and smiles softly. Who’d have thought a few wrong turns during his absentminded drive around the city would have ended with him _here_ of all places? 

_Certainly not me. Not complaining though, especially after how my day went._

A frown replaces the smile as he remembers what forced him to seek an escape from, well, everything. 

_One day, Damian will get what’s coming to him. I swear it._

For now though, Tim has to figure out how exactly to get out of the latest mess he’s found himself embroiled in. A teenager who hasn’t even graduated high school yet should not have the power and influence to make his life a miserable living hell. But most teenagers aren’t Damian Wayne.

He needs to think it over. Explore all the variables. His drive had been intended to do just that, but he ended up losing himself in his head as he replayed Bruce’s disappointed frown over and over again. 

_I can never live up to his expectations, so why do I even try? He never listens to what I say anymore, not since Damian started his internship. Who even gives a high school student a paid internship anyway?_

_Bruce, that’s who._

As he unlocks the door to his precious Audi—which seriously, what had he been thinking leaving his baby parked in the Bowery of all places?—Tim takes one last glance at the bar. Through the open window blinds, Jason is staring in obvious befuddlement at the payment tablet in his hands. 

Okay, so perhaps a $50 tip on a $20 tab was excessive, but in Tim’s mind, the experience was totally worth it. The bartender is much more than just a pretty face, which, wow. Talk about an attractive combination. 

Tim takes a seat and closes the door. The engine purrs to life and the locks _click_ automatically. _I might have to come back here sometime. Eye candy and intelligent conversation about things I actually enjoy are a rare combination. And the fried pickles with that aioli? Yum. Yeah, I’ll definitely be back._

With those thoughts in mind, he pulls away from the curb and drives off into the night.

* * *

The next day, Tim spends as much time as he can hiding in his lab with Vic. It works out well because no one comes looking for him after the early conference call ends. That stings a little.

_But considering that people are expecting an all out war between Damian and me, I can’t blame them. No one wants to get caught in the crossfire._

His real problem is that he hasn’t figured out what form of retaliation he should take, if any. He’s the adult here, he should be the one taking the moral high ground and letting his work speak for itself instead of allowing a few words from a bratty teenager with an overinflated ego get the best of him.

But oh, is it tempting. 

He amuses himself during the evening commute with convoluted plans, each one designed to smack his brother down. Because that’s really the core of the problem, Tim realizes. 

_I_ want _to see Damian fail. I want to see him screw up and face the same disappointed stare Bruce gives me._

But does he want to be the person who engineers his first taste with reality? 

It’s a question that lingers in the forefront of his mind for the next few days and come Friday night, he still doesn’t have an answer.

That night, Tim settles in at his desk, the struggles and problems of the week disappearing as he logs in to his home computer with anticipation. Friday night is game night and he fully intends to lose himself online with Bart in some dungeon trawl or epic quest. 

Maybe even both.

 _“Hey, Tim!”_ Bart’s voice greets him through the headphones he slips over his ears. _“You won’t_ believe _what happened this week.”_

“What happened?” Listening to Bart’s story is infinitely better than talking about his own problems, but inevitably, the little motor mouth gets the story out of him.

_“Seriously, you should just move to Keystone and live with me. Central City’s just down the road and I heard that Kord Industries is hiring again.”_

Tim bites his lip because the temptation is _real_. One of his first internships had been at Kord Industries and he’d loved every second of it. “I thought that was just a satellite office?” he asks.

_“Not anymore, apparently.”_

That’s definitely something to keep in mind. 

Kon joins them halfway through the quest. He’s not much of a gamer, but he knows if he wants to talk to his two best friends, this is the way to do it. _“Dudes! What’s up?”_

_“Tim is having demon problems again,”_ Bart replies, not missing a beat as his summoner literally levels the playing field.

 _“When isn’t he?”_ Kon hiccups loudly.

Tim glances at the clock. It’s nearly midnight. His friend lives in Metropolis, which isn’t too far away, and while he likes a good party, it isn’t like him to just randomly login when he’s obviously drunk. Texts and Snapchats are more his style.

“From the sound of it, you’re having some problems too,” Tim hazards a guess. “Everything okay with you and Cassie?”

 _“Things are fucking_ fantastic _with Cassie. Guess what I finally did?”_

 _“Put a ring on it?”_ Tim and Bart say at the same time. It’s been a long standing joke between them, that Kon keeps saying he’s going to ask Cassie, his long time and long suffering girlfriend, to marry him and never does.

_“Yup.”_

“No way!” Tim grins wide while Bart cheers. “About damn time.”

_“I know, right? We’ve been celebrating all evening and took a little timeout to take a breather.”_

_“Don’t you dare send us dick pics, I swear to God,”_ Bart warns. 

_“Tim wouldn’t mind.”_

“Cassie might,” Tim returns. “Besides, I lived with you for four years. I’ve seen your dick more than enough.”

 _“You’re no fun,”_ Kon states blandly. Then, out of nowhere, a loud _pffft_ rips through the line. _“Oops!”_ he says, not sounding sorry at all. _“Better you guys hear that than Cassie. My night’s over if she did.”_

Tim snickers. “Yeah, but she’s gonna smell it unless you open a window.” Again, four years of living with Kon has given him far too much knowledge about his best friend’s bodily functions. When he farts, it lingers far longer than it has any right to. “Do you really want your room to smell like someone died in there?”

 _“Dammit!”_ Kon cries out before his connection drops. 

Bart’s still laughing. _“Oh man. You know that was a loud one if his mic picked it up.”_

“Something about drinking always turns him into a fart factory,” Tim states. “You’d think he’d remember.”

 _“Eh, drinking has a way of erasing what happened last time.”_ Bart’s snickers quiet down. _“Okay, so we gonna finish this quest or what?”_

“Oh, it’s on.”

* * *

A few hours later, Tim signs off the server with a pleased sigh. That was exactly what he’d needed to unwind. He leans back in his chair, which lets out a loud _creeeak_ of its own. It’s loud enough his mic probably would have picked it up like Kon’s fart did earlier.

_Wait a second._

Tim rocks back and forth, listening to the obnoxious creak each time as metal rubs against metal. It’s loud, it’s obnoxious. It isn’t something that’s easily fixed either. He’s tried WD-40, as well as other kinds of lubricants. If the chair weren’t so damn comfortable, he’d have tossed it to the curb months ago. 

_What if I can make it fart?_

The idea grows the more he thinks it through. 

_If I can make my chair do it, then I can do it to Damian’s. It’s perfect. No one would ever suspect it was me either, not even the little demon. He’s expecting an elaborate revenge plot, as is everyone else who knows we’re at each other's throats again. A farting chair? That’s something Dick would come up with._

_Seriously, if there’s one thing that will make Damian crack, it’s a blow to his ego. His image is everything. If I can put a dent in that, then the effort will be worth it._

Grinning, Tim backs away from his desk and stands. In moments, the chair is flipped over and he’s on his knees, poking around. It doesn’t take long before he’s running downstairs to the garage for his toolbox.

_I’m gonna figure this out if it kills me. And if I have to resort to a whoopie cushion, then so be it._

* * *

It takes all weekend, but by Sunday night, he’s figured it out. And it shouldn’t be too hard to replicate on the standard desk chairs at WE as it involves the pneumatic cylinder that allows the chair to adjust up or down. 

He even breaks down and digs through his old stash of surveillance gear to find a functioning pen that has a miniscule camera and mic built into the base because there’s no way in hell he’s missing out on capturing Damian’s reaction.

_Now all I have to do is stay late Monday night. This is gonna be great._

* * *

Finding an excuse to stay late on Monday isn’t difficult. In fact, it’s too easy. The challenge lies in convincing Tam.

“You’re up to something,” she says, dark eyes narrowing with suspicion. “Getting you to stay late usually involves threats of bodily harm or stapling your pants to the chair.”

She’d done it too. The stapler had been huge and definitely not one that could be found on the WE intranet site for office supply orders.

“Who, me?” Tim bats his eyes innocently. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Tam crosses her arms. “If I go down to your car and pop the trunk, will I find anything that could get you fired?”

Damn, she really does know him too well. 

“No,” he answers honestly. All the tools he needs are technically in his backseat, under a dark blanket that matches the leather interior. 

Sighing, Tam shakes her head. “Am I going to need to lie for you?”

“Lie is such a strong word.”

“Tim,” she says warningly.

“No, you won’t since there’s nothing to lie about. I’m staying late to play catch up and do some of the work I know you do for me so I can spend more time in the lab.” Tim grins. “Consider it an early birthday gift.”

“Seriously?” Tam’s voice spoke volumes about what she thought about that.

“Of course not. I still haven’t decided what to get you, but that’s only because you won’t tell me what you want. And no, I’m not getting you shoes.”

_I swear, she has enough shoes that she could wear a different pair every day for a year._

“I still have two weeks, I’ll think about it.” 

“Great. So, whatcha got for me?”

Tam shakes her head again. “I swear, Tim. Whatever you’re up to had better be worth it.”

“Trust me, it is.”

* * *

Four hours later, Tim makes his way down to the parking garage to retrieve his tools. From the safety of his car, he uses his laptop to easily break into the WE security system through the backdoor he and Barbara had installed years ago to loop the security cameras. 

_It’s not hacking, it’s creative engineering. Besides, I bet Barb would totally be on board with this if I were to tell her._

Heading back upstairs, Tim exits the elevator several floors beneath the executive level. 

All of WE’s interns, including Damian, work together in the intern pool, which has them all grouped together in a series of cubicles that take up almost half the floor. The numbering system is atrocious and it takes Tim longer than he’d like to find Damian’s desk.

_Seriously, the only people who probably understand this grid are the ones who work in the mailroom._

Damian’s desk, when he finally finds it, is right in the middle of the intern pool. The placement couldn’t be better if Tim had planned it himself.

_Everyone around him will hear it!_

Making the necessary adjustments to the chair doesn’t take very long. As he’d suspected, the pneumatic cylinder is similar to his own chair at home, so the small device he created over the weekend slides on easily and the test fart works like a charm.

Next, he inspects the desk. The bugged pen doesn’t look any different than a standard pen, but it’s entirely possible Damian is just OCD enough that he only uses a specific type or doesn’t keep a jar handy for pens and highlighters. 

_Woe unto anyone who dares ask the little prince to borrow one._

Luckily, there’s a black plastic office organizer just to the right of the second monitor. Each pen and highlighter is in its own separate little compartment and the third is full of paperclips. The brand of pen is the standard one WE orders and is identical to the one Tim slips in beside the others.

_Perfect._

He takes a seat in the chair and pulls out his phone, opening the surveillance app to make sure the camera and audio are working properly, as well as the angle of placement.

Smirking, Tim performs a test run. A loud fart rips through the silence and seconds later, he replays it back on the app. In his bluetooth, it echoes back. 

_Excellent._

Before he leaves, he takes a moment to wipe down the chair, as well as anything else he might have touched. 

_Paranoid? Perhaps, but I am dealing with Damian. I can never be too careful._

Tim heads back down the elevator to the executive garage and settles into the driver seat of his car with a satisfied grin. Tuesday can’t get here fast enough.

* * *

The next morning, Tim makes sure he arrives on time despite the lack of sleep the night before. Sipping his coffee, he taps in the code to the lab he shares with Vic and takes a seat at his desk. It all looks perfectly innocent. And it is. This is something he does every day.

_Nothing to see here, folks._

Damian has classes for the first half of his day, so everything is falling into place nicely. 

Tim settles in to his research and banters with Vic when the slightly older man arrives an hour later than usual. 

“How was your dentist appointment?” he asks.

“Got the drilling of a lifetime,” Vic replies. His cheek is swollen. “I can’t feel half my face.”

“I suppose now isn’t a good time to ask what you want for lunch?”

“No, it’s not. Ask me when Tam checks in to make sure you get your one square meal a day.”

Tim scoffs, affronted. “I’m not that bad.”

“Really?” Vic’s grin is crooked thanks to the numbing agent dulling the pain from his filling. “I can count three times in the last week where you skipped a meal.”

“Okay, fine. But today, we’re having lunch!”

“I’ll believe it when I see it.”

It’s all nice and normal. Peaceful, even. They even make some progress on their prototype before Tam messages him around noon.

Fox, Tamara: _It’s lunchtime. Do I need to force feed you?_

Drake-Wayne, Timothy: _That was one time and I had the flu._

Fox, Tamara: _You’re avoiding the question._

Drake-Wayne, Timothy: _If I buy lunch for all of us, will you pick it up for us?_

Fox, Tamara: _Fine, but it’s my choice. And tell Vic I’ll get him a smoothie._

Drake-Wayne, Timothy: _Deal. Don’t forget a spoon._

Tim minimizes the IM and glances at the clock. One more hour to go. 

* * *

He’s still on his lunch break when the bluetooth chimes quietly in his ear, alerting him to movement at Damian’s desk. 

Eagerly, Tim grabs his phone and opens the surveillance app.

“What’re you doing?” Tam questions, giving him a curious stare.

“If I tell you, you’ll no longer have plausible deniability.”

Vic snickers. “What’d you do?”

“Shhh…” Tim watches as Damian removes his school uniform jacket and hangs it over the back of his chair.

The teen frowns, apparently picking up on the change in height. The canister only works if the chair is fully extended, which was a risk Tim was willing to make.

Damian sniffs with disdain, then takes a seat. His hand drops to the side to adjust the seat down and…

A loud _pfffffffffft_ rips through the air, sounding exactly like a fart.

Tim can barely control himself as Damian’s face lights up like Rudolph’s nose. 

_Oh my god, I didn’t think he could turn that color!_

“What are you laughing at?” Tam tries to sneak a peek at the screen, but Tim stands and races away from her.

“Seriously, Tam. You don’t want to know.”

Through the bluetooth, he can make out the sounds of poorly concealed laughter coming from around Damian’s cubicle. No one can see what happened, but they definitely heard it.

_And here comes the volcano. I haven’t seen him do that since he was eleven._

Damian’s expression clouds over and he shoves away from the desk, sending his chair flying back behind him. _“Who dares?!”_ he all but shouts, trembling with fury. 

The camera picks up on him spinning on his heel and flipping his chair upside down, ripping his jacket in the process.

_Oh, nice. Alfred hates when we do that._

Around him, the other interns have grown quiet, recognizing one of Damian’s tantrums in the making. Tim has the distinct feeling they’re all finding an excuse to use the bathroom or get a fresh cup of coffee right about now.

Tim misses what happens next because Vic snatches his phone away.

“Hey!” he cries out, trying and failing to reach Vic’s extended arm. “Not fair!”

Vic can’t hear what’s going on, but he can see it. “Oooh, the little demon looks like he’s about to murder someone. What did you do, Tim?” he asks, glancing down with a question in his eyes.

“Hit him where it hurts the most,” he growls, wondering if it would be fair if he did a leg swipe on the taller man. Vic played football in college, so he has about six inches and nearly a hundred pounds on Tim, even now. 

Tam takes one look at Tim’s phone and shakes her head. “I don’t want to know.” She picks up the rest of her lunch and marches out the door.

Vic grins down at him. “But I do."

Tim knows there’s a maniacal look on his face and doesn’t care one bit. Through the bluetooth, he’s still hearing Damian’s shouts as he discovers the canister and promises pain, dismemberment, and unemployment on whoever did this.

_And now everyone will see him for the immature kid he still really is. Mission complete._

“Let me rewind it.”

* * *

That night, Tim finds himself working late again. Not because of Damian’s magnificent temper tantrum that sent Bruce, Lucius, and the head of HR scrambling downstairs, but because Tam loaded him with more paperwork before she marched out the door.

_It’s her way of telling me she doesn’t approve, but whatever. Everything went perfectly and I even managed to get my bugged pen back in one piece. I’d call this a victory._

A victory he decides he wants to continue when he finally manages to escape for the night. 

_And I know exactly where I want to go._

He pulls the car swap off without a hitch and drives his beat up old Civic, the one that has seen three cross-country trips in its lifetime, to the Bowery. 

Luck continues to be with him as he opens the door to the dingy old bar as Jason is once again working tonight. He’s leaning against the counter with a book in hand, one that lowers as he offers an idle “Welcome in” before it registers who’d just stepped inside.

Tim offers a crooked smile as he takes a seat at the bar. “Hi.”

Jason’s is bigger and tinged with disbelief. “Hey. Didn’t expect to see your mug around here again.”

“What can I say? I’m a sucker for the fried pickles.”

 _And your eyes, but like I’m ever going to say_ that _out loud._

“Think you need your head checked, but whatever.” Jason sets aside his book. “Anything to drink?”

“Whiskey and coke, please.” 

“So polite.”

Tim watches as the man heads down the bar and easily ducks under the counter toward the kitchen, and nearly chokes. 

_How on earth did I miss those thighs last time? Holy crap. Oh man, coming back here is either the best or worst idea I’ve ever had. Maybe both._

Jason returns a couple of minutes later and starts on his drink. As the evening progresses, they fall into the same easy conversation as last time. It’s great. It’s fantastic. It makes Tim ache to find out which way this man swings because no one has managed to pique his interest like this in ages.

_But how do I find out without sounding like an utter idiot? And if he is, am I even his type? A guy like him, he probably doesn’t find himself alone for long. Who am I kidding? A skinny nerd like me doesn’t stand a chance._

_Maybe I should use my gym equipment again. I didn’t used to be this scrawny._

Not so idly, Tim taps out a reminder on his phone to dust off his Bowflex and stock up on protein shakes. Maybe he’ll even remember to pack them for lunch.

_Even if nothing comes of it, I’ll at least be able to take Vic down if he ever steals my phone again._

He must have smiled at the thought because Jason makes a comment about it. “You seem like you’re in a better mood today than last time. Good day at the office?”

Tim grins and smears a fried pickle through the delicious spicy aioli that accompanies it. They’re just as good as he remembers. “Yeah. For once, I did.”

_And it just got even better._


End file.
